


Hard to Say

by alovething



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 03, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-18
Updated: 2005-02-18
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovething/pseuds/alovething
Summary: "It's hard to say I miss you..."





	Hard to Say

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

I slip my hand into the pocket of my jeans and retrieve my keys, the silver gleaming under the dim light in the hallway. I lean against the door as I shove the key into the lock. It doesn’t work. Wrong key.

Stupid fucking keys.

I finally get the goddamned door open and I drag myself into the loft. I throw the keys in the general direction of the sofa. I slip my leather jacket off my shoulders. It follows the keys. I walk towards the bedroom, and in my current stupor, I trip over something. Fuck. I look down. It was the cords to Justin’s computer. I sigh and trudge towards the bedroom.

Stupid fucking computer.

I need to pack that computer up. Justin probably needs it. He looks tired lately. I hope he’s eating right. I hope he’s sleeping well. I wonder if he still has any nightmares. I wonder-

-when I became such a fucking lesbian. 

Who gives a shit about Justin? He’s got the merry fiddler now. I don’t give a shit. _I don’t._

Stupid fucking Justin.

I don’t care. Nope. Who am I kidding? I miss the little shit.

I shake my head and put on a scowl to ward off any future lesbianic thoughts. Fuck off, mushiness. I’m not in the mood. 

The bed feels really empty. It’s too big. Too cold. Too hard. Too-

-god dammit.

I get up and storm out into the living room. I need to get my mind off this shit. I walk over to the stereo. I haven’t used it since Justin left. I hit the power button and spin the volume knob way up. I don’t want to think. At all.

A song is just starting. It’s slow. I look at the display. It’s that damned alternative station that twat was into. I lift my hand to change it but I stop when the singing starts. For some reason, it captivates me.

__

_The singer finished singing and she's walking out_  
The singer sheds a tear, her fear of falling out  
And it's hard to say how I feel today  
For years gone by and I cried 

It’s not something I’d ever listen to normally. It’s a far cry from my usual tastes, but I stop. I listen. I open my eyes, my ears, and my heart. Whatever. __

It's hard to say that I was wrong  
It's hard to say I miss you  
Since you've been gone, it's not the same

The words cut me deep. They were so true. So me. Not that I’d ever admit it. It was so hard to say anything to Justin. It was too hard to say ‘I love you’. It’s not that I don’t love Justin, because I do. There, I said it. I fucking love Justin Taylor.

I should feel better. I don’t. Because he isn’t here. And since he’s been gone, my life hasn’t been the same.

Stupid fucking life. __

My worries weigh the world, how I used to be  
And everything, I'm cold, seems a plague in me  
And it's hard to say how I feel today   
For years gone by and I cried 

I sink to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the cold hardwood. The singer’s voice reverberates throughout the empty loft. It echoes and pounds into my ears relentlessly. I can’t take it. I jump up to turn off the radio. I can’t take any more. My hand is less than an inch away from the power button when the chorus starts. My hand drops to my side. Listen to it, Brian. __

It's hard to say that I was wrong  
It's hard to say I miss you  
Since you've been gone, it's not the same  
It's hard to say I held my tongue  
It's hard to say if only  
Since you've been gone, it's not the same

Well, shit. The stereo grows blurry in my line of vision. I’m trembling. This fucking Top 40 song made me cry. Nothing makes me cry. It’s all Justin’s fault. Stupid twat. Why did he make me fall in love? I didn’t fucking want to.

Too bad it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

Stupid fucking love. 

The song gets louder, a crescendo of all my thoughts and feelings. I drop back to the floor and let it out. I wipe my nose and laugh at the mess I’ve become because of a little blond twink. I lay on my back and I see that blinding smile and dancing cornflower blue eyes. This time I don’t fight off the thoughts. I don’t want to. If I would have just said I love you, he might be here, listening to this stupid song with me, and I’d be smiling. But he’s not here, and I’m definitely not fucking smiling.

Stupid fucking song. __

Worse than the fear it's the lie you told a thousand times before  
Worse than a fear it's the knife  
But it's hard to say how I feel today  
For years gone by and I cried

I lie there on the floor, in the exact same spot I kissed him in that red sweater. I lay in the same position he did when I told him, in so many words, that I knew his secret. I should have fucking said it. I should have just said ‘I love you Justin! Don’t go!’ Instead, I said 'You stink.'

Stupid fucking pride. __

It's hard to say that I was wrong  
It's hard to say I miss you  
Since you've been gone, it's not the same  
It's hard to say I held my tongue  
It's hard to say if only  
Since you've been gone, I'm not the same  
It's hard to say (God, it's hard to say)  
Since you've been gone,   
I'm not the same 

The song is ending. I jump up as I hear the DJ start to speak. Please say the name of the song. Please tell me who sings it. I listen closely. He does. I boot up to my computer and within minutes, it’s downloaded. Sitting there on my desktop, the little icon jumps out at me.

What do I do with it?

My hands start acting of their own accord. Or maybe it’s my heart.

I put a blank CD in the burner. I click the big red button, signaling the burning process to begin. My trembling fingers take an envelope from the drawer. I scrawl _”Don’t open until you play the CD"_ haphazardly across the front.

I take a piece of stationary and write a quick note. I fold it and stick it in the envelope. My fucking hands won’t stop shaking.

The CD finishes. I take it out and put it in a case. I slip on my shoes and grab my jacket. I lock up the loft and run down the stairs, the CD and envelope clutched tight in my hand. I slip into the front seat of my car and drop the seemingly innocent objects on the front seat. They just sit there, mocking me. 

I drive to the diner and walk in nervously, silently cursing the stupid bell over my head. No turning back now. He looks up. He sees me. I can’t read his expression, but he looks almost happy to see me. I clutch the items in my hand and walk towards him. He opens his mouth to say something but I shake my head.

I put the CD and envelope on the counter and push them towards him. He looks confused. I look into his eyes. I hope he can see how much I miss him. Without a word, I run out of the diner.

Two hours later, I’m lying in my bed again. It’s still too empty. Too cold. I’m freaking out over that note. That song. It was stupid. I’m sure of it. 

There’s a knock on the door. I get up and walk to the door, clad only in a pair of 501’s. When I open the door, I almost think I’m dreaming.

Justin is standing there, staring at me. His eyes are red and big. His cheeks are flushed. He nibbles his bottom lip. He only does that when he’s scared.

I open my mouth to say something but before I could, his lips are on mine. His body is against mine. I clutch to him like he’s my lifeline. He is my lifeline, my life. We kiss, and kiss, and then laugh, and then kiss some more. 

He’s clutching a piece of paper in his hand, my note. I sweep him up and kiss him again, joy and love and true happiness flooding from his body to mine. The paper slips from his fingers as he holds me. The black bold lettering contrasts harshly with the white paper, the grand gesture he was waiting for.

__

It’s hard to say that I love you, but that doesn't mean I don't.  
-B

* * *

Song: "Hard to Say" by The Used


End file.
